A Hundred Days
by dragondark
Summary: A sorceress without a heart; unforeseen consequences to a mission; and Roxas' first hundred days with the Organization. A Kingdom Hearts 358/2 Days AU.
1. prologue

**title**: A Hundred Days  
**rating**: T  
**disclaimer**: I do not own Kingdom Hearts, Final Fantasy, or Disney. 'Nuff said.  
**notes**: _A Hundred Days_ is in essence a Kingdom Hearts 358/2 AU. Any canon introduced after Kingdom Hearts II is in danger of being kicked out of the way for plot purposes. This fic is dedicated to one DonatienValiarde, who made piteous noises until the bunny was lodged in my skull. (Ow. Poor ficbunny.) I am profoundly grateful to DigitalTart, TheSeer and Weirdly for their fantastic and thorough beta-readings. Any mistakes that remain are my own.

* * *

prologue

In the evening, the streets on the island were black and bare. The door to every house had been sealed; the only lights burned inside a temple overlooking the blood-dark sea.

Only one person was ever out at this time of night, and she was running.

Panting, she stumbled on the shore. Sand tangled her dark hair, scraped her skin raw, choked the cry in her throat. Her veins simmered with fear and her heavy limbs ached, but she couldn't stop. In the surrounding darkness she could still feel the shadows pressing closer, the throng closing in--

Inhuman footfalls crunched behind her. Terror swelled in her heart as she turned to see monster after monster bubbling out of the shadows pooling along the shore. She gasped but couldn't breathe; the air was crushed glass in her lungs.

An old memory flared to life: _Above all things, I protect._ But it had been a different girl who had made that promise - a girl whose veins had burned with sorcery, who had laughed and cried and lived without care because she didn't know everything that was to come: malice and worship in the corridors, the way power could turn and lash out on a careless heart, the responsibility that a sorceress bore to the people of her island.

She was older now, armored with years, and all that she had learned was how to be afraid.

Struggling to her feet, she swayed as they rose out of the rippling ground, an endless army of monsters. Blood sang in her ears. She clenched her fists at her sides to stay upright. It was hard - harder than she could have imagined. Her bones were turning to glass, were dissolving into sand. She couldn't hold on for much longer.

This was the day that she had always known would come, a voice murmured in her mind. She couldn't prevent it, so why not slip quietly into the darkness? The night was warm and welcoming. How much easier it would be to succumb to her fears, to fall, to let _them_ lay waste to the island while she lay sleeping underneath the earth...

"No," she mouthed, but she was alone and the power that danced along her fingertips had dimmed to a bare spark. She sank to her knees again, feeling the monsters crowding around her, shadows whispering empty things into her skin.

Ground gave way underneath her to a soft, yielding void. As she let her eyes drift shut, she felt it open up to her like hands, easy as a dream. She had done the right thing. There was no heart weaker than hers on the island. If she had stayed, if she had gone on, she would have only burdened them with protecting her. Of course she had never stood a chance.

Her skin felt loose and strange. She could feel her body unraveling into nothing, bones weaving together into the shape of one of those little monsters on the beach. Memory after memory faded away until even language was breaking down andthewordswereslippingfromher--

In the distance she could hear someone screaming.

"_Rinoa!_"

Her eyes snapped open. Recognition rolled through every vein at the sound of her name. She was needed. Whatever else she was - afraid, friendless, alone - she had promised to protect them all to the end. She couldn't let them fall, let them die. She couldn't disappear. Each thought surfaced from her mind like a ghost torn from the underworld. She fought to hold them together in her mind, grinding teeth too sharp to be human.

No.

She wouldn't disappear.

She _refused_.

A last burst of power flared through her body, and she arched from the sheer force screaming up every nerve. Even through her closed eyes, she saw her sorcery sweep across the beach, tracing the outline of each crouching monster -- but only for a second.

Sorcery and darkness spiraled together and exploded.

A savage brightness rose out of the wasteland. She cried out, flinging a human arm over her eyes, and her voice rang unreal in the shimmering air. A hammering filled her ears as light drifted closer. She could almost remember what that sound was - what it meant, why it was important...

The brightness touched her. Instantly her veins surged with light. Electricity filled her hollow skin. Agony charred her mind clean of thoughts - an agony worse than death or terror. For a moment, all other sensation faded as pain expanded to fill every corner of her mind. The world was an endless stretch of white, bleak and empty.

She screamed. Light poured from her eyes, her mouth, her hands. Gathering into a radiant globe, it hovered before her burning eyes - but only for an instant. Then it raced away into a world she could no longer see.

Someone was murmuring from far away. If she concentrated, she could nearly feel it all: the brush of long hair as a familiar face leaned in, the arms that cradled her, the skittering beat of a heart not her own. "Don't-- Oh, please, you must hold on. _Rinoa--_"

She was fading too quickly to hear the rest. The voice slipped from her ear. She tried to reach out, to hold onto the last word, but it crumpled and splintered into broken letters. Darkness swept even the pieces of that thought from her mind.

And she was gone.

* * *

Elsewhere, the world began.

What he remembered later was not the mansion rising like a shadow to his left behind a curve of brick walls and iron bars nor the stranger before him; it was the sky. A sky that shone like heat, all oranges and transparent reds and clouds boiled thin. If he had known then what terror was like, he might have been afraid. But there was only a distant hollowness, a ghost of loss, and his mind was crowding with all the words he didn't know how to say.

He breathed in. The first question curled on his tongue, sharp and sour. He looked up, and _was_: a boy standing in a clearing before a gate, fire over his head and earth underneath him.

Someone spoke in a voice that was no voice at all. The words guttered and wove and the unsteady air shivered as if the world were only a mirage behind the question. _Would you like to know?_ Certainty. Secrecy. Temptation. _You feel nothing. You _can_ feel nothing._

He stood still, blank-eyed and watching. His pulse thudded in his ears, oddly empty; no heart existed underneath its beat.

_Would you like a meaning?_

Ghosts whirled out of nothing. The sky was tilting a little more with each passing second, trees and dirt and jutting gates overturning as a string of letters circled him like a chain. Startled, he moved for the first time and reached out for something he couldn't hold. His grasping fingers clawed through the letters; they scattered. Before he could wonder, they snapped together again in a gleaming combination, so sharp that their shapes dimmed into solid form.

_Roxas._

And he knew his name.

"A new you," the stranger said, and for the first time, Roxas saw without the whirling promise of a name to distract him. Straightening, he studied the man, filtered the thousand details and tucked each away: tall, black robes, hood pulled over his features. He moved like a fighter: soundless, grim and graceful with a controlled bearing that said _danger, here lies danger_--

_Danger? _Roxas frowned. No matter how he looked at it, there was no reason to think that the stranger was dangerous. But all his instincts recoiled against the man's very presence.

He exhaled. The name shuddered up again through his tangled thoughts, hollow and heavy on his shoulders. He stayed still, stayed tense and kept his eyes open, waiting for the stranger to speak. Again and again, his mind slipped back to his name, trying to call a memory out of the sound - but to no avail. The only memory that existed before the hooded man was darkness.

"Roxas." It slipped out and it really was that simple - just an unfamiliar hiss between his teeth. As if conjured from his voice, a swirl of shadows opened up in the world, raw as a gleaming wound. His body tightened. Automatically Roxas flung out an arm, dragging it back through a rush of air to wrap both hands around--

A hilt he didn't have, a weapon he couldn't imagine, let alone hold.

The hooded man chuckled, low; his laughter filled the clearing. "When you are ready," he said, "find us."

His own voice crackled in his throat. "Where--?"

"You will know."

The stranger stepped backwards into the pool. Black ribboned through the open space around him, weaving smokily over his form. Roxas watched him go - watched the darkness fold into itself until it disappeared.

And he was alone again.

He stood still for some time, in case the man came back. When nothing moved, Roxas stirred at last. He went to the gates, ran his fingers across the iron bars and held on as they hummed, waiting for some recognizable echo to surface. Nothing came. He might have landed in a desert or the middle of a lake for all the good it would have done. He stared at his hands, opening and closing, at the gleam of skin pulled taut and his knuckles growing white.

After a while, he took the path that led away into the woods.

* * *

"Number Eight."

Axel stopped, resting one foot on a higher step. His shoulders tightened. Behind him, Superior waited in silence. He probably thought that repeating himself would be a sign of humanity, of weakness - as if any of the first seven Nobodies could be mistaken for a creature with a heart or the slightest sense of fun.

He flicked through a list of deeds that would bring Xemnas to speak to him in person instead of the next meeting. Nothing came up - which wasn't exactly a comfort. For a scientist, Superior liked his games just a little too much, and the last thing that Axel needed was to get caught up in one of the power-plays that seemed to have gotten more and more common over time. They already had an arrangement: he did the jobs, he watched hearts like stars pour into the nightmare they were building, and then he went and slacked off, occasionally in the company of little shotglasses.

It was a good arrangement. He liked it a lot.

In the meantime, his survival instincts reminded him, as he bemoaned the tragedy of his fate, etcetera, he'd left his back to a Nobody for several unguarded seconds. Clearly all of that alcohol was doing wonders for his brain processes--

Axel spun around. Superior was standing at the foot of the stairs, arms at his sides, head tilted back, and Axel stifled the sudden urge to bind darkness into a corridor and get the hell out of there. That Xemnas had unveiled his plans for the Organization long ago didn't mean much. There'd never been a guarantee that he was telling the truth, and Axel liked to think that he could see danger when it waltzed up and did the hula, and now his mind was presenting him with the singular image of Superior trying out a tribal dance.

His brows twitched on the brink of a wince. "Boss," he said, lifting two fingers to his brow in a salute.

Having caught Axel's attention, Superior turned away. It figured. "Another Nobody has emerged in Twilight Town," he said over his shoulder. "Bring him back when he is ready."

He didn't relax. This seemed like a simple assignment, the kind that might have been given out at any meeting. The fact that Superior had decided to forego the wait implied there was something else to it – an urgency, which had to mean – something. Axel had no idea. He called after the retreating Nobody: "Number Thirteen, huh?"

For a long moment, Xemnas was silent. At length, he glanced back. "Is there truly a factor in your mission that you have failed to understand or are you only trying to delay your mission?"

Axel didn't miss a beat. "So picking up some newbie's a mission?" He folded his arms and cocked a brow. "Must be a pretty important kid..."

"All will be revealed in due course."

"Right." He paused. "So, if _you_ knew about him, then why didn't you--"

Xemnas had turned "Do you presume to question me?"

Axel lifted his hands. Darkness spiraled up around him, draining away the sight of Superior's narrow, suspicious look. "I'm going, I'm going."

Privately he suspected that Xemnas kept ditching the newbies because he knew what a lousy tour guide he'd make. What kind of a guy named a _basement_ 'Nothing's Call', anyway?

* * *

Roxas came into Twilight Town through a crack in the wall.

Streets ran from him in every direction. More roads curved over his head in forms of bridges and broad, flat roofs. The world was thick with paths. Roxas narrowed his eyes and started to walk. A gaggle of strangers drifted by. He cut through the crowd, letting their scattered conversations ghost about him. Only when the last voices faded did he realize that he had been holding his breath.

Stopping in the middle of the street, he stared down at himself: plain clothes, bony frame, stranger's hands with long fingers and hard-skinned palms. Everything led to memories knotted up in mysteries and a story that wouldn't yield no matter how he yanked every loose end.

_You will know_, the hooded man had said. In retrospect, he just sounded smug.

The buildings glowed in the sunset, warm and unknown, and every passing face belonged to a stranger. There was no connection to him: not in its plain, worn streets or the people who wove through the town. So why had he appeared here?

As another group darted by - three kids, this time - he caught himself counting them, tucking the facts of the scene away. Locking in memory how the girl in a yellow dress swung her arms, dark braids bouncing. How the bright-haired boy at her side waved a hand and crunched on his ice cream. How the shorter boy plucked wanly at the headband hanging over his eyes.

Without quite knowing why, Roxas watched them leave. None of them gave him so much as a glance.

His hands curled at his sides. Then he walked on without looking back.

He turned at the first intersection. There was a woman kneeling on the streetcorner, up to her elbows in the grease-black engine of an ice cream cart. Their eyes met. She waved to him, so cheerful and confident that he stopped. Her face was strange to him and the town had brought no memories forth, but he could have been wrong. He wanted to be wrong. "Do I know you?" he asked.

One eye swept over him. "Nope," she said. "Haven't seen you around. Hey. Want some ice cream?"

Automatically Roxas dug around in his pockets. His hands came up empty. "Ah..." he started. "I don't have any--" The word crumpled in his throat, unknown. Ice cream. He understood what it was, but the idea was unconnected to anything else. Payment, he thought, and reached after the concept. There had to be payment. How did he pay?

The woman sighed and chuckled. "Kids today. Always broke." She shook her head. "Tell you what. It's the end of the day. These are only going to go to waste if someone doesn't eat them. You stand there and pass me my tools when I need 'em and I'll give you one."

He thought about saying no, about searching again for the - _memories? reasons? -_ things that would tie his existence together.Restlessness fluttered in his bones. He had been searching for hours, it seemed, and he was tired - tired of end after dead end. He wanted to stay - or rather, he wanted to want to stay. _Wishing for a wish._ The idea made his teeth clench. He ignored it.

"Sure," he answered. He crouched by her toolbox, handing her screwdrivers and hammers while she stuck her head inside and cursed the fickle nature of machines.

She emerged again after five different wrenches and a metal rod with an uncanny resemblance to a morningstar, oil-streaked but triumphant. "Done! Here." Dragging another compartment open, she pulled out two ice creams, shining pale blue through the wrapper. "It's nice to have company sometimes."

"I don't need so much--" he started, but the woman cut him off.

"Come on, take it! You never know where you might find a friend to share it with."

For an instant Roxas didn't speak. At last, carefully, he said, "Thank you," and accepted both.

Satisfied, she slammed the lid shut on the engine, leaving oily streaks across the surface. "You new around here?"

"I guess."

"Ah! Then you shouldn't miss the sunset. Find a high place to watch from. You won't regret it." Wiping off her hands with a rag, the ice-cream seller favored him with a warm smile. "There's a reason it's called Twilight Town."

Roxas nodded and turned away, one ice cream in each hand. On the way up the hill, he started to nibble one as the pale horizon unraveled into fire. Salt burned on his tongue, cold - and familiar. A memory unraveled from the taste, roaring through his ears. He closed his eyes and listened. Gradually, the sounds of an unseen sea came clear - and behind it, the ringing laughter of people he knew...

A dash of something cold and wet - _ocean water?_ - struck his hand. He started to laugh just as his eyes flew open.

There were no people; there was no sea. Only a trace of ice cream lingered, slick on his skin. He stilled, staring down at the trace of blue sliding down his wrist, and remembered the shrieks of gulls he had never heard. Something surged in his chest like the sea - something for which he had no name. He waited. Eventually it twisted loose again into emptiness.

At last, he licked away the drip and walked on.

* * *

The clock tower gave a brilliant view of the town: buildings gleaming like new clay, painted roofs alight with the sunset, train a winding snake of steel and smoke in the distance. Roxas let his legs dangle over the ledge as he ate and watched the livid skies changing, feeling the rush of his almost-memories fade in his veins.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it: darkness too deep to be a shadow, hidden in the outline cast by the clock tower.

It moved.

He had one second to react and, before he knew it, he was in motion. A familiar weight flashed into each hand. He scrambled to his feet, leaving the two ice cream bars, and leapt, blades swinging over his head. The air sputtered and wheeled with flames, whirling into the shapes of spiked discs thrown up just in time to block his strike. Sparks jolted between blade and chakram.

Only then did Roxas register the black robes - and where he'd seen them before.

Startled, he disengaged and retreated. His heels skidded along the ledge and he hastily stepped back again. The chakrams flared once more and disappeared; the other man started to clap. "Nice," he said, and Roxas realized that he was laughing. His narrow face was alight, his ember-bright hair wild, his eyes a reckless green sharp as broken glass. "What were you gonna do? Kill me?"

Roxas opened his mouth to answer, then pressed his lips together. The instinct had been so strong - as if the memory had etched itself into his muscles, knitted the knowledge of the swing-and-slash into his very bones. In the second between sight and movement, he had known exactly what to do. But it was gone now, all his purpose turned to ash. He couldn't be certain of anything. "I don't know."

"Well, hey, don't stop on my account. You were doing _so_ well." He grinned, eyes sharp with calculation, as if Roxas had measured up to a standard he hadn't even considered. His expression had focused like a panther's, wary and intrigued. "Second round?"

Roxas turned away. "I don't want to fight you."

"Why not?"

"You're working with him, aren't you? The other guy."

His companion was silent, but only for a little while; still, it was more than enough time to tell him a little more than the stranger probably wanted him to know. "Yeah," he said. "But if you want answers, he's not the one you need."

"And you are?"

"Nah. I dispense ass-kickings, not answers."

Roxas eyed him. From him, it sounded as much a challenge as a declaration. "Kick your own ass," he suggested.

The stranger twisted his mouth. "You really don't know much. Sorry. I've got a long list of skills, but anatomical impossibilities aren't on it. Well," –he flashed a sharp smirk— "not most anatomical impossibilities, anyway."

He was trying to be irritating. He had to be. No one drawled like that by accident. "Forget it. I'm not going to fight you."

"Sure about that? Because your Keyblades are saying something else."

He'd almost forgotten the blades. They had fitted so comfortably to his grip that the weight of them felt like nothing. Each moved like an extension of his arm. He stopped, facing the sunset, and raised one to the level of his arm. The teeth of the key gleamed in the waning light. He wondered what it unlocked. "This is a -- Key... blade?"

"What? Don't you know?"

Roxas closed his eyes. "I don't remember anything from before the-- From before." He felt the Keyblades dissolve. The sudden loss threw him off-balance, and he put a hand out to steady himself.

"That so? 'Cause from where I'm standing, you're doing a pretty good job of remembering how to string all those pesky sounds together into words. Not bad for a guy who can't remember anything."

His first instinct was to snarl, but the spark gleaming in the stranger's eyes told him that he was expecting that. After a moment, the annoyance dimmed. His arms settled at his sides. "I guess that's true."

"Huh. Full of surprises, aren't you?"

He glanced back. "I know worse things to be full of," he said, not without bite. His companion's mouth pursed into a half-smile.

"That's just what you think now, Number Thirteen."

"Thirteen?" When the stranger didn't answer, he sank back onto the ledge and picked up the remains of his ice cream, saved by the wrapper of the spare. "Whatever. And it's Roxas."

"Hn?"

"My name. It's Roxas."

His companion sprawled beside him, all limbs and bony angles. Even without looking Roxas would have felt his presence, a long line of heat at his side. "Axel." He twirled a finger. "Got it memorized?"

"Why? Does it matter?"

Axel's grin widened. He tipped his head back to look at the sky. "So what are you doing here?"

"I..." Roxas looked down. "I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know? This is where you came from, isn't it?"

"I guess." Glimpsing blue beside his hand, he remembered the other ice cream. After a moment, he offered it to Axel. It had survived the journey up the hill well - softer around the edges, but only a little had dripped into the wrapper.

"Wow!" Axel said, scratching his neck. "Half-melted ice cream. I'm simply _honored_."

"If you don't want it," Roxas began, piqued. Before he could finish, Axel reached out, seized the ice cream and noisily started to unwrap it.

After a taste, he made a face. "What _is_ this?"

"Sea-salt ice cream."

"Mm." Axel pressed his wrist to his mouth, stifling a cough. "Yeah, but how much sea-salt and how much ice cream?"

"You don't have to eat it if you don't like it."

"Tch. That's what they all say."

Roxas didn't answer, only watched him.

Eventually, Axel cracked his neck and said, "Y'know, you're going to have to say it out loud if you want an answer. I don't read minds."

"You came to find me," Roxas said. "Why?"

Axel waggled a finger. "Where's the fun in just being told? Guess."

He bit down the first retort that sprang to mind and swallowed the last of the ice cream. The salt tang flared on his tongue, and he relaxed as the cold eased through his body. "I can't," Roxas said. "I told you. I don't _remember_."

Axel twiddled the ice cream stick. "Huh. Well, that's not right."

"So you know something about this."

"Yeah, but—" He paused, weaving the stick between his fingers. "I'd explain, but Superior'd kill me. He has this whole thing where he breaks out the diagrams and speeches. There's a theory going around that he spends all his free time making up the diagrams for the next newbie, and we wouldn't want to rob him of that."

He sounded contemptuous, but there was an edge of something else mixed with the brilliant amusement. Fear, Roxas thought. He stood. "Then let's go."

Axel laughed, but he got to his feet. The last of the sun had slipped under the horizon, the world dissolved to shadows around them. In the dark his steady eyes gleamed like a cat's. "'Bout time to show you around anyway," he said.

_to be continued_

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If you enjoyed the chapter or have a suggestion, please review. Responses make my day.


	2. blackthorned fairy tale

**notes:** Still dedicated to one DonatienValiarde, who needs to stop being so convincing about getting me to write things.

* * *

**chapter one: black-thorned fairy tale**

-

-

-

The new kid fit in pretty quick.

Luxord taught him to gamble and whisked him off to bluff everyone out of their secrets until Xigbar caught him cheating. (The resulting brawl broke the poker table.) Demyx - always short of munny, the patience to outwait the people he owed and the interest to kill them - persuaded Roxas to pay for drinks with his winnings, stopping just short of rounding out Thirteen's education with a Screaming Orgasm. Even Lexaeus surfaced to analyze the two keyblades Roxas carried like wings - as if, underneath their weight, he could learn to fly.

Axel kept an eye on him.

It would have been stupid to do otherwise with the Organization awash in tides of influence and power. Roxas didn't even have the advantages of the last Nobody - not that confidence in his own strength nor a flat-out clawed viciousness that meant no one would look at him twice without permission. And the Organization could be ruthlessly stupid, could turn on each other like cats and wage war on each other from ten sides at once. They'd toss and tug Roxas between them until they tore him apart if they thought that he might give them an edge.

At times he thought that was how Xemnas kept them together: by keeping them too busy with each other to throw him off.

Not that it was a bad tactic. Axel used it himself, more often as time ran on. The advantages of a Nobody who could wield a keyblade had escaped none of them. They would have cornered and dissected him if they'd thought that they might have half a chance of getting away with it. But they couldn't trust one another, and so no one moved.

And Roxas drifted, sharp and oblivious, through the castle and all its tangled affairs.

It changed him, though Axel couldn't have named the ways. He knew only that Roxas looked like everyone else in the thirteenth throne, unreadable thoughts sliding through his face like light on water as Xemnas ran through the usual reports and studies with a torturous attention for detail.

He gave the missions last, letting each member disappear from their chairs as they were dispatched.

"Seven." A blue-haired man shifted in his seat, scarred features unreadable. He pressed his hands together, tip to tip. "You will take the Valente assignment. Thirteen" --and Axel found Roxas on the lowest throne, blue eyes empty-- "you will accompany him. When you return, you will be designated a mission of your own. I will expect you to have grasped all of the necessary procedures and to be able to operate at full capacity. Is this clear?"

Before Roxas could answer, Larxene's voice curved out of the air. "Saix, really?" She leaned an elbow on the arm of her throne. "That's nice. Traumatise the kid now. Save some time."

"Enough," Xemnas said, but Larxene didn't look at all chastised. "Your insubordination is intolerable and ill-founded. The Valente mission is well-suited to Seven and will allow Thirteen to learn his duties to the Organization in the process. In the future, do not presume to question my orders."

"Puh-_lease_. Saix doesn't work well with people. Kind of insane, really. You want a matched set of mental wrecks every time there's a lunar eclipse?"

Saix glanced down, unmoved. "Why does this matter to you, Twelve?"

_Good question_, Axel thought. Ever since she got stuck with the title 'Savage Nymph', Larxene had made it pretty clear that she was in it for the hearts and nothing else, but she'd always taken her orders like the rest of them. Interference wasn't her style, and Axel couldn't see it coming off – unless she knew something that the rest of them didn't.

Which he wouldn't put beyond her, either. She did spend all that time skulking around the white halls like an electrified guard Chihuahua; she had to be getting _something_ out of it.

Not deigning to let the rest of them in on the mystery just yet, Larxene only winked. "I just love your expression when you're annoyed. It looks exactly like every other expression you make. What do you say, Roxas? Want to work with the resident lunatic?"

_Of course._ _Roxas_. The world spun on Thirteen. He was the fulcrum, the sun, the center around which the moment was turning. And he had no idea. The only question was what Larxene'd found out about him that would—

"Axel hasn't been assigned yet." Roxas said. His muted words carried, loud in the sharpening air.

The air drew tight. Axel leaned back in his seat. This was what Larxene had known, what ran in the current of every meetings, what tightened between his shoulder blades as he waited for the counterattack. The same knowledge pulsed like murder through Xemnas' eyes, calculations clicking through to an inevitable conclusion. They couldn't afford to alienate the wielder of the keyblade, not when fortune had dropped him into their laps stripped of heart and memory and everything that might have made him fight their plans. On the other hand, Saix was Xemnas' second in everything but name. Superior couldn't trust that anyone else in the Organization would work to turn Roxas in a direction suited towards his interests.

He had good reason not to.

Axel didn't grin. It was when his plans didn't pull through that Xemnas was at his most dangerous.

"Eight's personality does not correspond half so well to the situation in Valente," Superior said aloud, at last.

"Like Saix's does?" Larxene, biting a gloved finger, scoffed. "If he gets stuck there until nightfall, that's when you're going to have a situation."

"Larxene," Xemnas ground out. Something in his tone changed, growing guttural and savage. "Your liberties do not extend so far." Larxene fell silent, though her smirk lingered. Axel waited, frozen in a parody of relaxed grace, knowing that he couldn't possibly leave it at that. Eventually, Xemnas added, "It might, however, befit Eight to acquire experience outside his area of expertise." Translation: _Maybe it's time Axel gets to do something other than set Heartless on fire._ "Very well. Axel, you will instruct Roxas through Valente." His eyes flicked to Marluxia, then Larxene. "As for _your_ next assignments..."

He heard Larxene say, "Ah," softly, her mouth on the brink of a sneer. Pride shone through her skin, murderously bright, and the last pieces clicked together.

She'd already known what Xemnas was going to assign them.

The ramifications of sending Larxene from the castle whirled through his mind. For a moment Axel was tempted to stay, to throw back the assignment and let Saix and Roxas reign in the situation in Valente. The constant politics annoyed him; but, in the long run, playing their games would do less harm than letting the others tangle him in their maneuvers for power. And if Larxene was involved, it would be a long and complicated game...

He could figure it out when he came back.

With a wave, he opened a portal behind Roxas. Ignoring his dramatics, Roxas leaned into it and disappeared. Axel turned his head, caught Larxene's eye and let his mouth slide into a wide and deliberate grin.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he said, winked, and sank into his own portal before she could zap him with a comeback.

The whole process couldn't have taken more than a few seconds, but by the time he arrived, Roxas had already contrived to look bored and abandoned, keyblades whirling through the air in casual, elaborate tosses. He didn't speak as Axel approached.

"Hey," Axel said. "Should I be honored that you wanted to work with me?"

Roxas rolled his shoulders in a shrug. He caught the keyblades, turned away, and started to walk. "I don't trust Saix," he said, then darted a sharp sidelong glance at him over his shoulder. It took Axel a second to figure it out, by which time Roxas had already dwindled to an insubstantial pawn-sized shape in the darkness.

"'Zat supposed to mean that you trust _me_?" Axel called after him. He got no answer – all that calculated cool probably didn't allow for it – but it didn't matter. That was answer enough.

Well. Would you look at that?

With a half-grin, he followed, letting the world snap shut behind them as the corridors swirled into an endless mist.

* * *

"So. You gonna wait for me to tell you about the mission until after we get there?"

"Are you going to make me ask?"

"Depends. How bad's your history of screwing up? I heard stories about that thing with Demyx down at the--" Roxas looked at him. Axel cocked a brow. "Right," he said. "Let's keep this short. There are three kinds of missions." He counted them off on his fingers. "One: a straightforward point-and-shoot mission. We go in and we get rid as many Heartless as possible. Two: the Heartless is too big for the Dusks and Creepers to destroy, so we go in for the kill. Most of the time it breaks down into shadows and reappears on another world, but..." His voice skirted the opening to a secret. He swept on before Roxas could ask. "Three: when we go in and take the hearts ourselves. Usually the world's not dark enough for the hearts to be tempted on their own, so we have to go in for them."

"How many hearts?"

"Depends. Sometimes we just need one. There's always a turning point in every world, and there'll be a heart there that connects all the rest. If we take down that one heart--" His hand clenched.

"Ah," said Roxas. Axel didn't sound idle or ignorant, which left another question open. "Why didn't Xemnas want to send you on the mission?"

He hesitated, so fleeting that Roxas nearly missed it. Then he grinned. "'Cause this is the third kind," he said, "and I get bored. It's easier to stir up darkness if things are on fire. Really narrows their focus. You'd be surprised how many hearts will crumple and break under a little heat. Of course," he added, considering, "sometimes things happen. The fires grow too much..." Axel flicked a hand, dismissing the dead. "Anything else?"

"What do we do once we get there?"

"Wait."

Roxas frowned. There were pieces of the puzzle still unused, bones missing from the body of the story. "What else?"

"Not much. It all happens pretty quick once we get there, you know?" Axel hooked his thumbs in his pockets as he walked. He was a far cry from graceful, but there was something sharply drawn about the way he moved: a kind of slouching arrogance that made grace meaningless. It was the kind of stride that said, _No, I can't dance, but I can kick your ass in five minutes or less_. It seemed something unique to Axel, and it was oddly fascinating. He glanced up at Axel's face only to find him gazing steadily back.

He winked. Roxas stared at him.

"Anyway," Axel continued, "we start it. Something about our darkness doesn't mesh right with hearts." He said the words as if they had no meaning, longing cut from his voice to leave it drawling an unchangeable fact.

Roxas curled a hand to his chest.

The corridor ended. Together, they stepped into a huge chamber.

The world seemed to expand with color, a gorgeous explosion of tapestries and silk-tasseled carpets and pillars cut from marble pale as ice. Everything was caught up in a desperate, gaudy battle for his attention - from the rosebud lamps, rimmed with emerald thorns, to the thrones at the other end of the room, carved with bones and chained angels. Fantastic statues - boys carrying stars, nymphs astride dragons - lined the walls on either side. Even the ceiling ran wild with paintings: starry rivers, spiraling galaxies etched across the surface of a coin, an army of wings stretched towards some distant sun. It was the other end of the world - as far from the sparse white rooms of the Organization as they could go.

Axel linked his hands behind his head. "Eh," he said, unimpressed. "Guess there are worse places to wait."

"Here?" Roxas asked. Axel glanced at him and made a face.

"What, you like this stuff?"

"It's..." He didn't know the word for what he thought: colors clashing so fiercely that they fitted together in an incredible patchwork way. He settled for a shrug. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the lamps flicker and noticed the shadows creeping across the floor. His shoulders tensed. He reached out; a keyblade shimmered into each hand. "Axel!"

Axel turned just as the first few Heartless took shape. Propelled by a certainty deeper than memory, Roxas barreled forward. He swung. The impact jolted up his arms and flattened as the Heartless burst, one after another, into a mess of shadows that curled like smoke. The keyblades shrilled. Whirling, he crouched and prepared to spring again.

The air shuddered and he stopped. Even the Heartless stilled.

Wraiths poured from the air, silver-suited and unlovely. Their wide mouths gaped and their needle-thin limbs whirled akimbo as they spun into battle.

It was over in an instant. Each slashed down. The Heartless writhed softly into nothingness, yellow eyes empty to the last. The first wraith to kill its mark stopped, its loose jaws poised over a glint in the air. Axel snapped his fingers. The creature's head swung up for an instant before it twisted away into empty air. The rest followed suit, their zipper-mouths stretched into wide grins.

Straightening, Roxas let the keyblades fade from his grip. "Heartless."

"Good job. Now tell me how many fingers I'm holding up."

Roxas ignored him. "I thought you said that this world wouldn't be dark enough for them."

"Guess I misread it," Axel said, but Roxas could hear the lie, the unfilled space of what he didn't mention. "Hey," he added, "time to teach you a trick."

"One that'll actually do something?"

"Roxas!" Axel spread his hands. "That hurts. C'mon. Don't you want to know how to call your own Nobodies?"

"Depends. Can I trade you for a Nobody with some sense of physical boundaries?"

"Tch. I'll show you physical boundaries," Axel said. He slung an arm around Roxas' shoulders. "It's a good trick to learn," he added, leaning a little. "If you learn now, you won't have to worry about getting stuck without them somewhere down the road. Got it m—"

"Axel."

"Yeah?"

"Get off of me," Roxas said, and stamped on Axel's foot. Unfortunately, Axel's hold was much more intricate than it had appeared at first, and the second part of Roxas' plan to free himself failed, with the result that they ended up scuffling on the floor.

"All right, all right," Axel managed, some ten minutes later. "Truce."

"You already tried that. Right before you pulled my hair."

"Fine. Tell you what. I'll stand on this side of the room. You can go over there. That way there won't be any more _accidental biting_."

Roxas stalked over to stand by the statue of an angel poised in a delicate and interesting pose over a boy. "You were going to tell me how to summon Nobodies," he said.

"Yeah." Axel pursed his mouth, fighting a wince as he lowered his arms. "Well, it's... What's it feel like when you call the keyblades?"

Roxas opened his mouth, then closed it again. The feeling wasn't something easily explained. How could he put words to it? -- the way the echo inside his bones dimmed; how the world narrowed to pieces sliced up by the lines of a weapon; how _easy_ it all felt, like he could conquer the world with a flick of the wrist. "I don't know," he said. "Right, I guess."

Axel rolled his eyes. "Right," he echoed. "That's specific."

"You couldn't describe it either."

"Could too! Just didn't know if you'd get it, that's all. So, uh... try calling to the darkness or something."

"What?"

"You know." Axel pressed his hands over his heart. "The darkness. You can feel it, can't you? I know," he added to Roxas' disbelieving look. "It sounds cheesy. Just try it."

Roxas watched him for a moment more. Then he drew a deep breath. "Hello?"

There was a blank silence. "Not _out loud_," Axel said.

"You could have mentioned that before."

"You mean it wasn't obvious?"

Rather than answer, Roxas closed his eyes. _Darkness_, he thought, but the shadows behind his eyes were oddly shallow. He reached out.

Now that all other distractions had been set aside, he could feel it – darkness, the pressure of an infinite space, teeming with voices that were not voices. They crowded against the edges, all pleas and spiraling demands. _Nobodies_, he thought, and they pressed into the cracks that the thought provided. All they needed was that click of consent, just a moment of _yes_ and they would be through—

"_Irvine Kinneas_!"

The trance broke. Roxas's eyes snapped open just as a boy burst in.

He hurried down the marble steps, tossing off little glances over his shoulder. Halfway down, his foot caught, and the boy tumbled onto the landing. With a groan, he prized his cheek from the floor and sat up. His glance swept the room before alighting on the two Nobodies. Instantly, he scrambled to his feet and made a bee-line for Roxas, ducking behind him with a gap-toothed grin. "You'll protect me, won't you?" he whispered. Roxas noticed the glint of something large and flat and metal clasped to his chest.

Before he could form a reply, the boy's chaser crashed through the ornate double-doors. Sunlight gleamed off the bristling yellow hair, the gritted teeth and the spiralling black tattoo inked from brow to jaw. "Irvine!" Catching sight of Axel and Roxas, he took a step back, hands cocking into fists. "Wh-what are you guys doing? Nobody's supposed to be in the audience chamber!"

"You're here," Roxas pointed out before Axel could make some nobody-related pun. He could _feel_ the bad wordplay hovering at the tip of his tongue.

The boy was still staring at them, pushing back his scruffy gold mane with a wince. "Yeah, but--" His eye stopped on the sandy-haired boy still hunched up behind Roxas. "Oi -- Irvine!"

"I'm not giving it back," Irvine fired at him, jaw tightening. He straightened, gawky arms crossed over his prize. "It's not like you get a free pass to be stupid just 'cause you're a knight!"

"Irvine, come on! Think of the prize money!"

"I don't care. You shouldn't be riding in that tournament." The boy clutched the breastplate tighter. "You were drunk all last night. I had to _haul_ you back to chambers." Zell made an incoherent noise and stumbled down the staircase. Irvine skipped three steps away, which seemed to thwart the knight. "Look at you! Zell, you really gonna ride like that?"

Zell clutched his head and glared. "That's my lucky breastplate," he gritted, lurching away from the landing.

"It's your _only_ breastplate."

"Pah. Fine." Still grimacing, Zell folded his arms and rolled crossly onto his heels. Roxas strolled to Axel's side, safely out of the way. "It's not like I need luck, anyway. I can win this on my own. No problem!"

"You gonna win it with no _squire_?" As the knight scowled, Irvine added, "You can't be in the tournament if you don't have all your armor, either. His Majesty won't let you."

Zell slumped. Sadly, he rubbed a hand through his scruffy hair. "Yeah, yeah..."

"Right." Irvine nodded and his grip relaxed. He approached the knight, reaching out to pat him on the shoulder. "You don't want to let the Arcadian delegation see you unhorsed by one of their knights, do you?"

"Well..." Abruptly, Zell lunged. The boy fell back as the breastplate slid free from his fingers. "Ha!" the knight crowed, pumping a fist. "_Oh_ yeah. I got it! I _got_ it!" He dangled the armor just out of Irvine's reach as his squire leapt.

"Geez," Irvine panted, and jumped again. "You beat a thirteen-year-old. Now there's something to celebrate."

"Why, you--"

Standing on the sidelines, Roxas shifted from foot to foot. "_This_ is the story that's going to spread darkness throughout the world?" he asked, voice pitched low.

Axel waved a hand. "I don't know. Maybe it's the breastplate of darkness. Or something." Roxas gave him a skeptical look. "Hey, I don't make this stuff up."

About to retort, Roxas broke off abruptly, seeing motion at the edge of his eye. He whirled, just in time to see two pages take up their posts on either side of the double-doors. "Announcing Their Majesties, Queen Edea and King Vayne!" they cried.

Zell's head snapped up, eyes wide with panic as they fastened on Roxas and Axel. His squire had contrived to disappear into the whirl of ladies and silken gentlemen, leaving the rest of them to the court's mercies. "Aw, man. If King Vayne sees you, he'll—"

It was too late. Guards marched down either side of the staircase, their armor dazzling in the morning light pouring through the windows. Lords and ladies in jeweled velvets followed, all aglow with conversation. Catching sight of the four intruders, they fell silent, fans beating shadows at each pale throat.

"Sir Zell."

A woman in gauze and dark silks emerged from the crowd. Her face had been powdered an expressionless, porcelain white. The rounded curve of her cheek made her look fragile and strange amid the crowd of lean, tow-headed courtiers. Two shells crusted with gemstones glimmered against the black of her hair, pinned its intricate weave into place on either side of her head. The way that she carried herself, however, was the final clue.

Well. That and the way Zell all but fell over himself at the sight of her.

The knight danced a nervous step back, then straightened, setting a hand at his brow. "Queen Edea! I'm so s—I mean, I beg your pardon. I was just gonn—about to. Uh." He swallowed down his words as another figure appeared at the queen's side.

All at once Roxas, who had been listening with vague restlessness, felt all his attention gather and focus on something – some_one_ – in the crowd. Darkness swept through him, chilling and sure. He looked to his side to find Axel wearing the same intent expression. They exchanged a glance. Before either could respond, however, another man spoke.

"Ah, Zell." The king was a tall man, sharp of brow and stern of jaw. He shared the coarse coloring of his courtiers, honeyed-brown hair and desert-dark skin, though he wore it with an emperor's languid grace. "I was unaware that I had assigned you to guard empty rooms." Chuckles rippled through the gathering of courtiers, though the king seemed oblivious. "And who are these? Your companions, I presume?" Vayne's eye drifted past the knight, and he smiled with the edged, meaningless courtesy of a sovereign.

"Your Highness." A knight in the scaly, ornate armor of the guard knelt before Vayne. His voice rang out through the intricate, dragonlike helmet. "Sir Zell was in your audience chamber on my orders. I wished to have it inspected and guarded for your arrival."

For a long moment, Vayne did not speak. At last, he inclined his head. "Indeed. Is that so? Then I am grateful, as ever, for your vigilance, Captain Cecil." Vayne glanced at the throng around him. "I believe this retinue will be enough. Leave me six as guards. Let the rest of your men have the afternoon."

The captain straightened, though he did not lift his head. "But sire, the Arcadians—!"

"I am well-aware that the Arcadians are to arrive later today," the king said coolly. At his side the queen stood dainty and still. "Six guards will be enough. See to it, captain."

"Yes, Your Highness." With a beckon, six men detached themselves from the knights arrayed on the stairs. The rest turned as one and started a steady march out of the room, streaming past their captain with their heads held high.

When the last of them had disappeared into the hallway, Cecil rose to his feet. He made a last bow to Vayne, murmured, "Your Highness," and turned. "Sir Zell."

"Captain!"

"Follow me, if you please."

They did. Zell shot them both glares, and Roxas looked to Axel for instructions. The latter only shrugged, hands splaying up in bemusement, and they trailed Zell into the hall.

In the hallway the captain stood with his back to them, watching the bustle of servants in the courtyard.

Zell stepped forward. "Sir, I—"

"I do not need your explanations, Sir Zell." Cecil's voice was quiet. "I trust that what I told the king just now was not a lie. These men will not harm His Majesty, will they?"

"No, sir."

"Are they your guests?"

Over his shoulder, Zell narrowed his eyes at both of them. Roxas met it without interest, filtering the hunched stance, the earnest furrow between his brows and the way his fists cocked. Not like the captain, whose hand rested on the pommel of a large sword as if by nature. Different ways to fight. It all seemed inefficient to Roxas. What good was steel or fists against shadows stitched together with hearts and malice?

At last, Zell mumbled, "Yes, sir. Th-they're visiting me. From back home. The capital. I grew up with them."

"Very well," said the captain, oblivious to Roxas's sudden stiffening at the lie. "That makes them your responsibility. In the future, do not bring them with you while on duty. Peacetime is no excuse for negligence. Is this clear?"

"Yes, captain."

"Zell," Cecil said as the knight started to turn away. "You must be sure. You've had two infractions in the past month. One more and you will be—"

"I—" Roxas watched the knight struggle with the words before settling at last on, "I understand, sir."

The captain only nodded. "See that you do." With that, he strode away.

Zell waited until the captain had rounded the corner before he turned on Axel and Roxas. Irvine had disappeared somewhere in the confusion with the battered breastplate, though Zell didn't seem to notice. "Who the hell are you guys?"

"You've gotta be kidding me." Axel laughed, leaning against a marble pillar. He crossed his arms, grin flickering wide. "It takes someone 'til _now_ to ask?"

"Wh—th—I was—" He sputtered at them before flinging up his hands. "All right! I'm sorry I didn't think that you guys were _assassins_ there to kill King Vayne, okay? Now who are you?"

"We—" Roxas started, just as Axel said, "Nobody," in smooth tones that overrode him. He stopped to stare.

Zell rolled his eyes at them both and folded his arms with a huff. "If you guys are going to get all _mysterious,_ fine. Just remember to stay out of trouble. Okay? It'll be a lot easier on all of us."

Roxas blinked. "You're letting us stay?" This didn't seem the smartest option, given the choices.

A gloved hand flew up, gluing itself to the back of Zell's head. "Ah—Captain'd probably figure out that something's up if you guys left right away," he admitted, torn between sheepish and glum. "And I don't need any more strikes. I've got the tournament tomorrow and—" The rest cut off as his arms opened into emptiness. Whirling, the knight scowled into the distance. "Aw, _man_! Irvine got away with the _breastplate?_"

"Not exactly fast on the uptake, are you?" Axel remarked, mouth a sardonic quirk.

"Y-you shut up!" Zell jabbed a finger at him ineffectively. "Get out of here. I've got to get to practice." And he stood with his chin raised and his hands bunched at his sides and his foot tapping to watch them leave.

Bemused, Roxas watched him for a handful of moments before he shrugged and stalked past the knight and down the corridor. Sunlight rayed into his eyes with every passing step; he fought down the growl in his throat and hunched his shoulders. This mission, he thought, would be so much easier if it were simply fighting Heartless. All this fuss over choosing a specific heart to unlock was beginning to annoy him.

It didn't take long for Axel to catch up to him. "Think you left something behind," he said. Roxas ignored him. They kept pace for several more minutes – Axel's one stride covering three of Roxas's sharp, fast ones – before Axel loosed an exaggerated breath. "Hey, if you've got something to say, say it."

Roxas wheeled. "Why didn't you tell him?"

"What was your big plan? A big statement of 'in your palace, stealing your hearts'?" Roxas stared at the ground. Axel laughed, but there was a bright, mean edge to the sound. "_Sorry_ if I didn't think that was a great idea."

He hadn't been around for long, but he recognized that lilt, knew what it meant. They couldn't afford a fight. Not now. Not if the mission was going to succeed. Roxas shrugged and halted.

"You're right," he said.

"Well, you—" Axel nearly tripped over his next step. It might have amused Roxas if he'd been able to feel it. "What?"

His hands opened and closed at his sides, restless with emptiness. The keyblades would have steadied him, balanced him, but courtiers who passed without seeing them now would look askance at a boy carrying two weapons in a palace. He narrowed his eyes instead and spoke to Axel's shoes. "It would have been stupid to tell him."

Even without looking, he could feel Axel relax. It was only then that Roxas realized he'd been tense, spine a stiff curve in the lights slanting through the open windows. "Right. Okay."

He cocked his head low. "You've done this before. I haven't. I should… trust you." Silence. "Right?"

"T-R-U-S-T, huh?" Axel said. He sounded a little dazed himself. "Sure you know what that means?"

That one, at least, he knew how to answer. Heading past him, Roxas paused to toss an indifferent glance over his shoulder. "Shut up, Axel," he said.

And, just like that, it was easy. He heard the familiar bark of laughter as they headed down the corridor together.

* * *

They spent the afternoon wandering the palace: weaving through the tall and ornate halls and the gardens twined with mint and marigold. A war had just run to its end, and everyone was too busy throwing down their weapons to consider that a new threat might sweep in out of another world so soon. Roxas could hardly object. It made things that much easier to find out, after all.

Despite their new surroundings, Axel remained the most interesting subject to study. All throughout the day, Roxas was aware that he was being watched. Axel surveyed him with the same kind of amusement to which someone might treat a dog. The new world didn't seem to faze him – but then, he'd been alive for much longer, and he must remember who he'd been before that. For all Roxas knew, he – well, his Other – had been born in a place like this. Axel, the fairy-tale prince.

Imagining his companion in striped velvet tights kept him from looking at Axel for several hours afterwards. But Solidor was interesting enough to compensate. An ivory kingdom, Roxas learned, so lovely as to be unreal, built out of the bones left by innumerable wars. Even the roots of it sounded like the beginnings of a fine legend.

It went something like this, Zell told him after practice (though Zell and Irvine were wont to quarrel over the details; Zell, said Irvine, dwelled too long on the glory of battles; and _Irvine_, Zell snapped, had a suspicious and _creepy _thing for the gushy-romantic bits):

Long ago, Vayne had been a gutterbrat, the Solidor king's only son born on the wrong side of the sheets. Nobody knew how he learned of the royalty that threaded through a rat-coarse ancestry in his blood, only that he had. After his father's death, Vayne had, along with thirty-two sisters of varying unions and bloodlines, arrived at the palace to proclaim his right to the throne. He'd clawed his way through ranks of oily advisors and backstabbing cousins to seize the throne at seventeen, and then he had turned his attention to the world. He received thirty-two proposals for marriage on the same day, and worked out alliances with half. He revolutionized the mechanism of palace politics. He trained his father's half-hearted army.

Eventually, he went to war: against Priasce, the crescent in the west, and the northern empire of wintry Arcadia. He even sent delegates to the far countries across the sea, establishing trade and peace with lands they would never see.

At twenty, bare of scars and still as cunning as ever, he returned home to talk peace with Edea, the newly-widowed queen of Priasce.

She had loved her first king dearly, it seemed, for she was reluctant at first even to speak of cutting short the war that had torn her husband from her. Nothing would persuade the queen otherwise, and no foreigner would try. Rumors of the Priascese court coursed through the outside lands: of how the knights had ridden out into forests to face witches and dragons and how demons had been bound to the queen's blood. But, somehow, Vayne did - and succeeded.

It had been love on the first day and marriage on the third. All the stories whispered of a union of love and statecraft both, and when the king and queen walked from between the double-doors and into the dining hall, Roxas could almost believe them.

_Love_, he thought, watching the king's gaze sweep the gathering, and _Joy_, at the queen's polished, powerful smile. He sank back in his chair. What did they mean? How did it feel, to have a heart beating inside that cage of ribs? To look at someone else and know something other than the look in their eyes and the way they moved? He must have had a heart once. He should know. But those memories had evaporated from his veins and taken all their weight with them. He was a ghost.

"If you're waiting for the sea-salt ice cream," he felt someone murmur into his ear, "don't hold your breath."

Roxas jumped in his seat, then tossed a glare to the left. Too late – Axel had already collapsed back into his seat, shaking with laughter. "Stop _doing_ that," he said.

"Can't help it," Axel grinned. "You make it so easy." He didn't bother to keep his voice low, even as the king and queen drifted past to the head of the table. In return, Zell hissed and kicked him in the shins. Roxas smiled.

As a guest of the knights in the king's own, he and Axel would eat in the same hall. ("So _flattered_," Axel had said, all wide-eyed astonishment, and Roxas considered beating him over the head with a keyblade.) He had wanted to refuse until Axel pointed out that they'd landed here for a _reason_. It would make it easier to spot the heart they were meant to unlock if they had legitimate reasons to be where the action was. And he'd been right. As soon as the entourage had entered, darkness had spilled over the hall in a cloud, shadows wrestling at the edge of existence. They were just where they should be: ready and waiting.

In spite of this, he frowned.

As if by signal, Axel glanced over. "Something wrong?"

"Why are we waiting?"

Both his brows shot up. "Dunno what backwater island _you_ came from, Thirteen, but in _society_, we've gotta wait for the servers to come to _us_. It's manners."

Axel, lecturing him about manners. Roxas bit back a swipe. "I meant the darkness. I could unlock all the hearts now—"

"Geez." Axel scratched his head and leaned against his chair. "Didn't think I'd have to teach you finesse, too. This is gonna be a tough one. Sometimes you've gotta let the story get to a certain point before the heart's ripe enough to open, you know? Or else you only get half the effect. We're not just here to release any old darkness. We've got to open up as much as possible." Casual as ever, he brushed at some invisible fleck. "You only get one chance."

"How will you know?" Roxas demanded, terse and tense. "When it's the right time."

Axel shifted his legs. Across the table, Zell squawked in outrage, then reddened as several pairs of knightly, disapproving eyes turned on him. "Go with your gut _feeling_. That tends to work real well."

"Nobodies can't—" A sudden uprising of trumpets interrupted him. Distracted, Roxas looked towards the entrance.

Another stately figure had started to make his way down the stairs, robes trailing in a grey, embroidered stream behind him. A large, pointed cap hid all of his sea-dark hair, barring one styled strand, which hung over his eyes in a lightning stroke. His robes were of a coarse black weave striped with red crosses and white lines, and a white cravat rustled like a flag at his throat, fluttering with each step. Someone else would have drowned in those clothes and the stares of every head in the hall, but the stranger seemed to turn them back effortlessly.

"I see that I have interrupted your meal!" he cried in high, fluting tones. The spell broke; Roxas could all but see Axel snickering to himself.

Having only just been seated, the queen rose again, each movement heavy with grace. "Had we known that you would join us, we would have ordered dishes more familiar to your lands, High Priest Seymour."

He waved this away with a bejeweled hand. "Arcadia is well-accustomed to receiving the unknown as her own," he murmured. "Be seated. No need to trouble yourself on my account."

Tension thrummed through the air; Roxas blinked. Smoothly, as if this had been his intended break, King Vayne rose, too. "As your host," he declared, "such is out of the question. Hospitality must be our first concern. You, boy," he motioned towards a gawky blond squire, who gaped at him. "Fetch the high priest a chair, if you please."

"How troublesome," the high priest sighed, though he sat quick enough when a carved chair was produced at last. "That I must burden you all in such a manner."

"Is it a burden when we feel no weight?" the queen inquired, sedate as ever.

Axel rolled his eyes and toyed with his forks. "Fancy mudslinging," he explained, voice cast low, to Roxas's inquiring look. "They're insulting each other in royal-speak. Wait until they really get rolling. Then they'll start giving each other stuff. Gold. Lands. Their children in marriage – though that's a high priest." He cocked his head. "Might just give up one of his vestigial virgins, then. It's not like temples haven't got plenty of those to spare."

"Sounds boring."

"Tell me about it. We can't even leave this world 'til the job's done, and this doesn't look like one of the fun ones." He kept on talking even as the servers began to carry out their dishes, routine all over again. Roxas ignored him to watch. Broths like molten gold, fishes glistening with wine sauces, swans posed as if in flight – even a pale castle jeweled with nuts and sugar-gems. The sights were meaningless. What mattered was the sudden darkness welling underneath their feet. Something had triggered it. Something in the – dishes?

"Axel," he said, stalling the flood of talk. "Can you feel that?"

"Can't feel anything," Axel said, breezy as ever, his standard answer sliding into place. "Remember, no h—"

"Pay attention." The tide was sweeping strong this time, coming to whirl about a single heart. If he reached out, if he looked, he could nearly make out a face to go with that bright, strong pulse… His eye fell on Seymour's face. The priest was smiling a languid, eased smile. It would have fooled anyone – almost. Roxas, surrounded by a maze of hearts, could see it now: the tangled presence underneath that mask, so sharp with desire, so hungry as it waited…

A cry rose from the head of the table. His concentration splintered in the tumult of shoved chairs and people scrambling to see what was going on. Roxas stood with them, to no avail. Being surrounded by knights came with one particular disadvantage: knights were, by necessity, strong and burly and _tall_. He peered down the table instead, and saw it: the queen, close-lipped with surprise, a fork still gleaming in one hand, and the transformed dish still set before the king.

"If we might have this removed," Vayne said doucely into the sudden stillness, "perhaps the feast might yet continue."

At once, servants barreled into motion, swinging forward to seize the offending platter and take it away. Roxas had a clear view then as they carried it from the room: a swan like any other, oiled to gleaming perfection and splendid with peacock feathers. But a vine had forced its (biscuit) beak apart. A black vine dropped from its mouth like a thorned tongue, looped its neck and wreathed its body with thorns.

Even with that brief look, Roxas could see that the swan had started to dissolve.

* * *

For all that the king had ordered the dinner to continue, the feast ended soon after that. The king and queen went away to give a firework show to the high priest, trailing courtiers and knights behind them. Zell, unchosen and forlorn, was left to bring Axel and Roxas to the unused barracks in which they'd housed the extra squires during the war. The room looked foreign to the rest of the palace, poorer: its walls shone with new paint, and already chipped; the beds were musty and the windows mortared shut with dust. It had been swept clean, too, all possessions cleared out and locked in storage. "Not exactly the best," Zell said, "but. Well." He reddened.

"Zell's not the best knight, either," Irvine piped up from his side. "Relatives get to stay in places according to the ranks of the people they're related to. And—"

"You—!" Snarling, the knight whirled and punched a wall. The shock of it echoed through the corridor.

"Save it for the tournament. You're gonna need it," Irvine was advising his master in sage tones as he guided him back down the hall. Roxas stared bemusedly after them.

Axel crossed his arms, strolling into the room and sprawling onto a cot. "Hey," he said, rolling over, "they even gave us a place to stay. Think I like this world after all."

"Your pillow has a bug on it," Roxas said, stalking after him. As an afterthought, he kicked the door shut.

"What, no 'you're easy' jokes? You're letting me down, Roxas."

"What would 'you're easy' mean?"

Propped up on one elbow, Axel stared at him. "Let's not go there yet," he said. "Ask Demyx when we get back. Better yet, just say it to Saix. Should get a nice reaction out of that. So," he added before Roxas could get past narrowing his eyes, "what do you think? Gonna go to bed?"

Leaning against the closed door, Roxas shook his head. "Too early."

"My thoughts exactly." He sat up, leaning on his knees. "So. Got a proposition for you."

Roxas made a noise.

"That supposed to be a yes or a no?"

"Yes," he said, eventually.

"Real generous of you," Axel said, all dryness. "You know how to do portals, right?" Roxas stared. "Right, right. Thirteen hates small talk. Got it. Anyway. You don't have to walk out of a portal. Sometimes you can just kinda – hover. Stay just enough outside of it to keep it open, but just enough inside so that nobody can see _you_."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Don't want you to _do_ anything. It's not like we need to figure out the story to open up the right heart at the right time; you'll _feel_ that. This is just for fun. So? What do you say?" he added, because Roxas wasn't. "You up for it?"

"Is there a point to this?"

Axel heaved an exaggerated sigh. "It's always about points with you. Relax. Have some fun. Remember the ice cream in Twilight Town? What was the point of that?"

"I—" The words folded tight in his throat. Axel was right. The ice cream – what was the point of that? It had nothing to do with being a Nobody, with not having a heart. People, he knew, dreamed of different things all the time – but they were _people_. Could Nobodies still be called people if they couldn't feel?

This was more than missing a heart and memories. There was so much that he didn't—But were they necessary?

"Look," Axel said, after a moment. If he understood nothing else, he could hear the sardonic pity. "This isn't supposed to be a life-changing decision. Just a contest. See who figures out the mystery first."

Pity. _That_ stung him. Roxas shrugged, quick and loose. "Fine."

"Great." Axel leaned forward. "So. This is how it's gonna go…"

* * *

They divided the palace in half. Roxas took the right side and Axel took the left. Then each disappeared into their own portals to prod the rooms. That was the plan, anyway. For all he knew, Axel had popped back into the room a few minutes later and gone to sleep. Now that he'd been set on the path, however, he was unwilling to veer from it, and so he went to search the palace.

Most of the rooms were empty – including the knights' suites. Curious now, Roxas ran through them all, a head vanishing and disappearing in the shadows of the rooms, quick and quicker. At last, in one of the sitting rooms, he found them: knights crowded into the dainty space, slumping over lacy chairs and scowling at beribboned frames. Zell was the first person he spotted as he peered out from behind a cobweb, jabbering and snarling at a taller man. The dark second at the captain's side that morning, Roxas thought, but he couldn't remember the name.

Just then, the stranger turned away, all brooding, disdainful lines. "Che... Zell, are you a fool?"

"What?" The knight took a step back, fists clenching. Roxas wondered dispassionately how he'd ever made it to knighthood. His whole body was shaking. It was clear that if he could have leapt the room to strangle the other knight, he would have done it. "Take that back!"

The knight who'd spoken only stood by the window and said nothing. Furious, Zell turned away and started to box his shadow.

Another knight stood up in the corner: the captain, this time. "What are you suggesting, Kain?"

"Think about it, Cecil." Kain turned, shadows tumbling over his face. "The king's not dead, just a little ill. But if it goes on like this, they'll have no choice but to cancel the official peacemaking ceremony with the Arcadians."

"I bet you they don't think so," Zell panted. He scrubbed the sweat-sheen from his brow and folded his arms. ""Th-they could get the queen to do it. She's just as much in charge as the king."

The knights exchanged looks. "Arcadia refuses to acknowledge that women can hold power, remember," Kain said carefully. The rest of the knights had fallen quiet. Every eye was trained on Kain and Cecil. "It was one of the reasons why Priasce and Arcadia never made it past the preliminary stages of an alliance against Vayne. It has to be the king."

"So we have the ceremony this week," Zell started.

"Yes," Cecil said. He started to pace. "When the king recovers, he'll point out that Priasce is short on funds for luxuries. It's a way to get out of pledging ourselves to Seymour without disrespecting Arcadia as a whole."

"And we'll have a whole year to see how the situation in the empire pans out." Kain sprawled in one of the chairs. "Not a bad place to be."

Silence. Then one of the squires – one with a bird on his elaborate hat – said, "You mean the _king's_ the one who's poisoned--"

"Arthur!" another knight rapped out. Arthur – and Roxas knew him: he was the squire who'd fetched the chair at dinner – flushed and bowed his head. The perched owl – who was _alive – _twisted his head around to stare at Roxas; his eyes were wide and very gold.

"It's quite possible," Kain said coolly. "But it might not be. We haven't any _proof_ that the king's the one behind this."

"You think someone else would dare?"

Silence was his answer.

Zell said, "Who?"

"Isn't it obvious?" He looked up, eyes flicking through the crowd. Roxas ducked from sight. "One of us."

Every conversation flared into a roar. In the chaos, Cecil leapt on his feet. "Think carefully on what you're suggesting," he said. "We're all loyal to King Vayne and Queen Edea. Such a plan would be the veriest--"

"Don't be a fool," Kain said, easy and suspicionless. Facing the window, he started to strike a match against the pipe. "You yourself were saying only last week how convenient it would be if--"

Cecil slammed his open hands against the table. "I would never betray His Majesty!"

Kain glanced from the open night. "Yes," he said, a little quirk to the edge of his mouth. "That was my point, actually."

* * *

The rest of the rooms passed without event: a handful of maids gossiping about how the queen still kept a portrait of her old king in the desk; the head cook threatening to resign upon being confronted with a list of Seymour's favorite dishes; a few sleeping children. At last, he returned to the barracks to find twelve of the candles lit and Axel flicking idle little fireballs at the thirteenth. "Find anything?" he asked. Roxas sank onto his cot without a word. "I'll take that as a no."

"Wasn't the knights," Roxas said shortly.

"Really." Axel laced his hands behind his head. "Got a reason, or are you finally going out on limbs like the rest of us?"

"The hearts weren't dark enough." Which was true, except he hadn't tried to sense their hearts. It'd been obvious enough from their faces - the squire, the knights, the captain, Zell. None of them could have conjured the darkness he'd sensed. He was going on instinct. Betting, like Axel.

It was so stupid that he could have kicked himself, except he didn't care enough.

"So who's your best bet, then?" Another white flash of teeth. "Since we're _guessing_ now."

Axel was still talking. Even his Other, Roxas thought, couldn't have met anyone quite like Axel, who talked and talked regardless of whether you liked him, and pretended that you were talking back. It was everything and nothing like desperation. Nobodies didn't _need_ others, though they craved the presence of strong hearts as a man dying of thirst would prefer to be forever two inches from water. Just the possibility was enough when you had nothing left.

But Roxas wasn't that kind of possibility. He was heartless like all the rest.

And yet Axel kept talking to him.

To stave off more mysteries, he closed his eyes. "The Arcadians." He sifted through the faces of the assembly in the dining hall: an array of grave, bearded priests. And one more. "The high priest, maybe."

"Sure aren't shy about going after the obvious."

"Who do you think it is, then?"

A sharp drumming rattled through the room. Roxas reached for keyblades before filtering the sound as Axel's fingers tapping the headboard. He relaxed again. "Dunno yet," he said. "Can't be that simple, though, or else they would've already been caught. Even if security's lax around here. What," he added as Roxas opened his eyes again, "think you're the first person to analyze palace intrigue?"

"I'm the only one doing it right now," Roxas pointed out. "You're just covering by saying 'someone unexpected.'"

He had a split second to see the grin ghosting at the edges of Axel's mouth. Then the latter snapped his fingers. Instantly the room plunged into darkness. "Night, Thirteen. See you on the light side."

* * *

In the morning, they watched the beginning of the tournament from the balcony that drooped over the walk, two Nobodies in a throng of knights. Roxas saw them first, sweeping through the shrieking crowds with quiet elegance. The queen, older of the two, smiled with small dark lips and ancient eyes; the king, bold and young, strode as if measuring the length of his kingdom with his steps. They made a strange pair, she with her black hair bold against her chaste white skin, he darkened by sun into a tan and a swing of pale brown hair, but they held hands even through the thickest of the noise.

As they reached the platform, the cheers dimmed into uncertain silence. Scattered curses and laughter rippled through the air. Zell cursed, soft and low. "Those are Arcadian robes that they're wearing," he muttered, and Roxas noticed their robes: red silk trains embroidered with coiling dragons. "It's one of their stupid ceremony days today. Forgot all about it. Ouch!" He gripped his side and glared at his squire. "You're supposed to have more respect for your knight!"

Irvine clasped his elbow. "Arcadia's our ally now," he hissed. "Y'aren't supposed to insult your allies."

"Allies don't need you to convert to their _religion_."

"They didn't tell the king to do that--"

"He's wearing one of those priest-robes-- Aw, forget this. I'm not arguing politics with an eleven-year-old."

"I'm thirteen, you knock-kneed--"

The rest of the knights hushed them savagely as Vayne faced the crowd. Still gripping the lapels of Irvine's patched jacket, Zell dragged himself over to the railing. The world seemed to hold its breath as the king spoke.

"People of Priasce! We gather today for a joyous occasion indeed. Not only does today celebrate the uniting of two kingdoms, now twelve years old, it will establish lasting peace with a third. " In the corner of the stage, the four Arcadian priests rose as one, red sleeves fluttering. Grumbling wound through his audience like a restless wind. The king lifted a finger and they stilled. "War has taken so many from us: our sons, our daughters, our cousins and neighbors and lovers--"

"What do you think they'll do if he holds up two fingers?" Axel whispered. His voice tickled; Roxas clapped a hand to his ear and motioned for him to be quiet. Something was unfurling in the air, heavy and wordless... Darkness, he realized – a darkness heavier than it had been before. Axel was right after all. The story began here. Darkness hung thick in the air, unraveling into tendrils that stretched further with every word. It crept smokily up the corners of the stage, curling around the edges of the queen's dainty shoes, toying with the hem of the Arcadians' robes.

He'd missed part of the speech. The crowd was chuckling now, cheering as the Arcadians knelt before the king, one by one.

Vayne leaned out. On his flared collar, an embroidered dragon's jeweled eyes gleamed the color of milk. "A toast!" he cried, flinging up his hands, and his subjects roared with approval. "To change -- may it bring us all we wish for!"

A page in a velvet cap crowned with a peacock feather brought out a goblet. With a delicate bow, he held it out to the queen, who nodded and smiled. She tilted it and drank, slim fingers curling like white claws across gold, Then she turned to pass it to her husband. Smiling all the while, Vayne stood, lifted the goblet for the crowds and drained it in one shot.

His audience's cheers burned like a fever in the air, widening circles of noisy madness. Roxas might have turned away then, but Axel touched his arm. "Look."

On his feet, the king was swaying. The queen rose from her throne, pacing towards him; her eyes were wide and dark. The Arcadians leapt up too, bursting into a confused babble as tension whispered through the air and the crowds grew dangerously still.

The goblet dropped from his hand.

At once, voices drained out of the world. The pruned trees writhed in the open courtyard, grey limbs snaking about each other. Leaves burst from the branches and grew hard and brittle, sharpening into thorns whose jagged edges glittered like fangs. The clouds spun, and clear skies pulsed with red veins. The winds picked up, snarling like hyenas. As one the knights jumped up, reaching for their swords.

By then, Roxas had leapt over the rim of the balcony and into the teeming crowd, fighting his way towards the king and the queen. Elsewhere Axel was shouting his name, but the scared milling crowd tore away the thread of his voice.

If he focused he could nearly feel a thought whirling at the back of his mind - about stillness and the eye of the storm - but he didn't have the attention to spare. He had a keyblade solid in each hand and silence clutched in his throat as he waited for the rain of monsters to pour out of the earth, the sky, the hearts of the rushing throng.

For something to begin.

Branches thick as pythons lashed across the courtyard, wrapping around his waist and hauling him into the air. Roxas kicked out, bringing the keyblades down. Metal sliced through wood and Roxas dropped to the moss-drowned cobblestones – but even the moss was writhing now, pouring like a green tide across the land and dragging him along. He scrabbled and fought for a hold, but it didn't matter. He was borne away clinging trees and vines draped a velvet-thick wall between his eyes and the palace.

Stabbing one keyblade into the shifting earth, he _twisted_ and used it as purchase to root himself on the borders of the courtyard. Immediately, vines twined up the slim blade, bending it aside. It collapsed into the torrent. This time, Roxas sank into the tides and did not rise again.

* * *

He landed on his back in the midst of a jungle with monsters flitting over him.

Roxas leapt up at once. The keyblade he'd dropped flashed into his hand. Monster after monster reared back in a sea of spindly wings, poison-bright hides and sharp spines. He hissed, a soft short breath between his teeth, and backed away, step by careful step. There were too many of them to face, even with two keyblades and no heart to jitter in fear or uncertainty. He thought of the shadow that had wormed from the palace floor - but that wouldn't help either. At last, he stopped, caught in the middle of a clearing with beasts swarming from all sides. He couldn't escape them, so he wouldn't. No despair threaded his veins, and at another time he might have wondered at the strangeness. But _now_--

A long shadow spilled over his shoulder. He whirled.

"Hey," Axel drawled. The air snarled with fire - fire that whirled smoothly into the shapes of chakrams. He spun them between his fingers before he crouched, gripping them tight. "Thought we were working together on this. You going to hog all the fun?"

"Don't get in my way."

"Oh, _no_." He could hear the smile winding smokily through Axel's voice. "Wouldn't dream of it."

They didn't fight in tandem. There was no rhythm in his blood that told him how Axel would react. Often he would turn to attack just as Axel cast a wall of flames that scorched the monsters to ash, or Axel would leap after a scuttling shadow only for Roxas to cut it down from beneath him. It was awkward to work around something, infuriating to back away from a pack of shadows only to bump shoulders with someone else. But it worked.

As the fight wound down, the monsters began to race away through the foliage, leaping between branches and vines to get away from their opponents. Roxas tensed to chase, but their exits were too small for him to fit through, and he wasn't about to get stuck in a cleft of wood for Axel to taunt him.

His eyes narrowed. There was something strange about their opponents, he thought, a raw and inhuman texture. He fumbled for the meaning, for the words to frame the thought in his mind.

Axel reached it first. "These aren't _Heartless_." He hurled a resentful shot of flame after a distant scatter of bones. It crumbled as it caught fire. "Ah, what a waste of time!"

"If they're not Heartless... then where are they coming from?"

"Give you half a guess on that one."

"The palace?" Roxas rubbed his head, keyblade clinking. "What happened there?" His grip tensed in thought. "The king. He was-- Did the priests poison him?"

"Maybe," Axel said. "Either way, we've got to see the story through." He gestured briefly at the thick wall. Flames lashed the curling thorns, flickering the color of cracked rubies. After a moment, they vanished again; the walls gleamed green and untouched.

Axel grinned. Lacing his fingers, he stretched his arms until the bones popped. "Finally," he said. "I tell you, that took way too long."

At his side, Roxas tipped his face up. Vines were twining over their heads, weaving them into the labyrinth. "Now what?"

"We make for the court," Axel said. "And we kill everything that gets in our way."

-

-

_to be continued_

-

**Notes:**

1. Cecil and Kain are from _Final Fantasy IV_, a great game that everyone should try.

2. Edea, her late husband the king (Cid, who goes unnamed), Irvine and Zell are all from _Final Fantasy VIII_, which battles FFVII as top Final Fantasy game for good reason.

3. The blond boy with the owl on his hat? Arthur from Disney. Hey, we already had Merlin. Why not?

4. Vayne comes originally from _Final Fantasy XII_, where he strives to be an emperor rather than a king. The names Arcadia and Solidor are also inspired by in-game objects.

5. High Priest Seymour is, of course, Seymour Guado from _Final Fantasy X._

6. Disney references were scant this chapter – don't expect that to last! I have the majority of the fic plotted out – and they won't be revisiting any of Sora's worlds; I know it'll happen in canon but, as we've already established, this fic doesn't follow canon – but I do accept recommendations for worlds you'd like to see.

* * *

**reviews:** Like it? Loathe it? Love it? Leave one.


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